


In the End It Was Always You

by caffeinechesters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, Deathfic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 10:25:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinechesters/pseuds/caffeinechesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The apocalypse happens, but not by the supernatural.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the End It Was Always You

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Last Outpost of All That Is](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/15980) by gekizetsu. 



> Inspired by "Last Outpost of All That Is" by gekizetsu (which is perfection). Although, I have a thing for sad or bittersweet endings, which I never noticed until now.

The world is falling, breaking, and a cacophony of screams and sorrow.

In a no-name motel room (cash only), off any of the major interstates in middle America, there's two men. They averted several apocalypses, but this had nothing to do with supernatural, but rather the mundane (it was a meteor that was about a mile long) that began the end. They sat inside, drinking cheap booze, listening to the static of the television (the plumes of dust made broadcasting impossible), waiting. For what, they were not sure.

They prayed to Cas, since he had yet to appear since the meteor hit (there was never a response) and despite him being an angel, an immortal being, they still worried.  
("Dude, he's not coming," Sam told to Dean, "It's been a week.")

They drifted for about a month afterwards, avoiding the coastlines (littered with bodies from the tsunamis and detritus that would ruin the undercarriage of the Impala) and heavily populated areas (riots and looting were rampant; too risky) trying to find anything supernatural (there wasn't). They decided after that month that it would be better to possible stay put, find a home that was not car shaped. The found an abandoned house with a couple of acres in outskirts of Roseland, Kansas (mostly deserted because of rural flight).

Six months had elapsed and there was still no words from the angels (or the demons): vanished like all the supernatural beings had the Croatoan virus. The world was being to fade, the greens fading to dull, mottled browns with a constant cloudy-grey sky threatening rain (but it was never just rain, there was an ashy texture to it). It was like God, the angels, the demons had just given up on the Earth and left it to totter on until this species choked out its last breath.  
("Goddamn it, Cas," Dean screamed one day, "Why aren't you answering? Did you abandon this planet too?")

Sam and Dean though, they were surviving. It was hard at first adapting to an agrarian lifestyle (their nomadic tendencies were hard to tamper), but soon it became easy (such as how to filter the water from sand, preserving foods). What was not easy was the lack of entertainment, the noise, and just the feeling of other people around. It wore both of them thin at times being the only source of human contact (the older woman that lived about half mile away died from hypothermia the last freezing night a month ago). There were changes between them happening, too, which scared them more than they would admit.  
("No chick flick moments, Sammy," Dean would snap, "Jesus, just shut up!")

The winter came hard: snowy, well-below-average temperatures, and wind. One cold February night (it may have been Valentine's day, but time is not important anymore) Sam had convinced Dean to share a bed; Dean's teeth would not stop chattering despite have six blankets wrapped around himself. They wove themselves together, fusing-latching onto patches of warm flesh (under the arms, between legs), that night; the morning however lent itself into a new confusion, new feelings (or old, repressed feelings; it was hard to differentiate at times) for each other. Dean was not talking about it, rather chasing away the looks that Sam was giving him and the memories of warm skin on his (Dean remembers the last time he got laid; it was a year ago approximately, and no, Madam Palm and her five fingers was no substitute) with copious amounts of liquor from the previous owner's stash. Sam, on the other hand, pushed-needled-bitch faced about that night for a week trying to telling Dean that it was okay that he got hard from that. It was a perfectly normal reaction, since you know, they haven't seen/ heard/ spoke to anybody else in months.  
("Hey Dean, you know the world is still moving right," Sam calmly told Dean, "This is not going to end the world. I mean, it's already kind of ending.")

Their first kiss was accidental, or rather, that is what Dean will claim. There is no proof otherwise, and no Sammy does not count; he's biased. Dean's version of the story is that it was like Bugs Bunny kissing Elmer Fudd, totally not gay, and it wasn't his fault Sam was clumsy and had a piece of rusted up farm equipment fall on him while trudging through the snow to the barn for more canned food. Sam will admit that maybe the first kiss was like that, but once it turned into kisses, that it wasn't an accidental kiss, but rather it turned into making out.  
("You totally were making out with me," Sammy teased while Dean dressed up a cut on his leg.)

Another bone-chilling night came about week afterwards, but Dean just invited himself into the same bed as Sam (much to Sam's shock). He muttered about being cold and sharing body heat (the same lines he told Dean the first time they shared a bed as adults) and curled up against Sam. He nuzzled against Sam, warm-hot breath diffusing across his collarbone. Sam kissed the top of Dean's head and curled in tighter. There was only the wind song and the sound of them breathing, creaking of a bed frame, and the orange glow of dying embers in a makeshift fireplace.  
("I am seriously not talking about this, Sammy," Dean told him, "How many times do I have say 'no chick flick moments'?")

The earth was still monochromatic in shades of browns and greys about a year out, with almost nothing edible growing. The food supply was running low (and all the stores were ransacked months ago), which was a growing concern for both. They managed to find a house within walking distance (the smell of decomposed bodies was still strong) that held some non-perishable foods, but it would only last for another week if rationed, which added up to about another 3 months of food.  
("I always thought a demon or something was going to take me out," Dean lamented, "not starving to death.")

Three months had past; all the nearby houses were checked for supplies (there was no way to get gas for the Impala now) but had yielded none. Time had kept marching on, with each day becoming harder to bear (the emptiness they felt, the pain of movement), they ended up not moving far from their (now) shared bed. Sam and Dean entwined their bodies together and....  
"Do you think heaven will still be there," Sam rasped, "Do you think we'll still be together?"  
"Yes, Sammy," Dean replied without hesitance, "We'll always be together".  
(They slept, frozen forever wrapped up in each other.)


End file.
